Eclectic Minds
by Kung Fu Coffee
Summary: When Sherlock and John first move in to 221B, they find themselves living underneath Ciel Deluz, who's in 221C. SHe's a very eccentric writer, and in a writer's block. So as a favour, Sherlock takes her along with him and John. NOT a Romance!Sherlock. This is a Lestrade fic, but centers around Sherlock and John. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

Time:32:26

A Study in Pink- Eclectic Minds Chapter 1

**I really shouldn't be starting another fanfiction, but this plot bunny won't escape. I may not post this, but as you know, it's a Sherlock fic. Takes place at the beginning of Study of Pink, right before John and Sherlock meet. Sherlock is at 221B Baker Street, just by the way.**

**Disclaimer: I'm no Mark Gatiss or Steve Moffat. I wish I was that good of a writer, but I'm not. And I'm certainly not a company (BBC). SO no, I don't own Sherlock.**

Sherlock Holmes sighed and sat down in his comfy leather armchair, watching as a moving worker dragged his various boxes in. Mrs. Hudson entered the room.

"Ah, Sherlock, you're staying." She smiled, obviously pleased. "DO you have a flatmate?"

"No, but I'm sure that I'll find one soon." Sherlock looked at her. "Thank you."

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS THAT RACKET?" A loud voice roared, and a tall woman with extremely curly brown hair entered the room. Three pencils were stuck in her hair, and her hands were stained with pen ink. "Oh, sorry for shouting, Mrs Hudson."

"Quite alright, Ciel." Mrs Hudson assured the newcomer.

"I'm sorry, are you my new neighbor?" The woman crossed the room and stuck out her hand for a shake. "Ciel DeLuz."

"Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective." Sherlock shook her hand, and observed the scraps of paper stuck to her clothing, the ink stains, and mini-pad of paper sticking out of her front pocket- this woman was a writer. The smudges of oil pastel possibly suggested artist, and the neatly clipped fingernails with the painted edges chipped signified a pianist.

"I hope that you're not disturbed by me playing the violin- maybe we could play a duet sometime?" Sherlock smiled innocently at her.

"I'm sorry, what?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Well, you're obviously a piano player, along with artist and foremost a writer." He finished.

"Wow, um, yeah, but I don't play duets. Ever." She told him.

"Good, I don't either." With that, he swept out of the room, leaving a very confused Ciel behind. She turned to Mrs. Hudson.

"Is he always like that?" Ciel asked.

"Yes, but you get used to it. He's quite a genius." Mrs. Hudson assured her.

Later that day, Ciel was at a total writers block. Sighing, she pulled out her phone.

_Next case you get, you're taking me along.-Ciel_ She sent it to Sherlock.

_Why?-SH_

_Writers Block. Need I say more?-Ciel_

Ciel POV

"There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing it," Mrs Hudson commented.

"Oh, of course we'll be needing it!" A short man with sandy blonde hair replied.

"Hey Mrs. Hudson, Holmes." I smiled at the two, note pad in hand.

"Hallo, John Watson." The man held out his hand for a shake.

"John Watson? Is that really you?" I cried out in excitement. "It's me, Ciel!"

"Oh wow, Ciel, I didn't know that you were in London!" We hugged, and John ruffled my crazy hair. The two of us went to college together, and we were best mates back in the day. Lost touch after a while.

"SO you two know each other, I take it?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"Yes, yes, we went to college together." I grinned. "So you're moving into Baker Street, eh?"

"Yeah, I needed a flatmate." John shook his head.

"Anyways, I was just going, sorry." I said, making for the door.

"No, that's quite alright. Stay, chat." John told me, glaring at Sherlock as if to tell him _let her stay, or else!_

"Thank you." I sat on the arm of an overstuffed sofa. Mrs. Hudson was in the other room, cleaning up after Sherlock. John and I sat there quietly as Sherlock attempted to tidy up the room.

"I looked you up last night," John told Sherlock, breaking the silence. I opened my notepad and pretended to read something, giving them privacy.

"Anything interesting?" Sherlock shot back.

"Found your website… the Science of Deduction." I made note of that, better look it up later.

"What did you think?" Sherlock half-smiled. John snorted under his breath, and I suppressed a laugh. This couldn't be good. John only snorts at unbelievable things.

"What?" Sherlock demanded.

"You said you could identify software designers by their ties and airplane pilots by their left thumbs." John finished. Now I understood his train of thought.

"Yes." Sherlock began to speak extremely fast about John's military career, and how he could read it. I could barely keep up, but then again, I wasn;'t really trying hard.

"What about theses suicides, Sherlock?" Mrs Hudson asked, coming into the room again, the day's paper in hand. "I thought they'd be right up your street." I didn't miss Sherlock going to the window and pulling back the curtain. Green and blue lights flashed on his face for a split second, signifying a police car. "Three, exactly the same." I had read about them, and was frankly, quite interested. That's a whole novel, just waiting to be written!

"Four." Sherlock said quietly. Everyone stared at him. "There's been a fourth. And there's something different this time."

"A fourth?" Mrs Hudson asked, aghast. Loud footsteps came up the staircase, and a man in a long, black coat jogged in.

I knew this man, vaguely. He'd been o n the TV about this- Detective Lestrade.

"Where?" Sherlock demanded. I rolled my eyes at his demanding attitude.

"Brixton, Northton Gardens." Detective said.

"What's different about this one; you wouldn't come to me if if wasn't." Sherlock sad it as more of a statement than a question.

"You know how they never leave notes?"

"Yeah."

"Well, this one did. Will you come?" Lestrade looked at Sherlock pleadingly. I felt sorry for him.

"Who's on forensics?" Sherlock asked, giving me a look that told me that I was coming. I grinned.

"Anderson." Lestrade answered.

"Anderson won't work for me." I shook my head and went upstairs, grabbing my purse.

"I'll meet you down there Ciel, hail a cab, thanks!" Sherlock yelled. I went down to the street with Lestrade.

"Greg Lestrade, nice to meet you." He shook my hand.

I smiled at him. "Ciel DeLuz."

"So, you're a…." He trailed off.

"Um, woman, living on London, occupation author?" I said, unsure of what he was asking.

"Writer, oh!" He opened the door for me, and I stepped out into the crisp London air. "Well, I'll see you there. Or around. Or…"

"See you, Greg." I waved as he got into the police car.

"It's Lestrade. Everybody calls me that." He shouted out of the window. I waved, then hailed a cab.

"Sorry, can you wait a few minutes, my… um… friend might be a while." I told the cabbie apologetically.

Five minutes later, Sherlock came down with John.

"I'm to be his _assistant_." John said sarcastically. Whatever John was to be, they needed as much privacy as they could get to talk things over, so I sat up next to the cabbie in the left passenger seat.

The ride there was uneventful. Sherlock explained his reasoning for John's apparent cross-examination, and I tried not to eavesdrop.

Once we got there, it was getting late, and quite dark and chilly out. Only then did I realise that I wasn't wearing a coat, only my plain tan leather button-up and my floor-length cream skirt with the little pretty flowers on it.

"SISTER!" Sherlock exploded. I looked up- Sherlock was mentally berating himself for getting a detail wrong.

"Maybe next time, Sherlock." I patted his on the shoulder.

"Hello, freak." An African woman with curly hair rivaling mine greeted Sherlock. Seargant Sally Donovan- she was on the news as well.

"We're here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade."

"Why?"

"Because we were invited."

"Why?"

"I think he wants me to take a look," Sherlock smirked at her.

"Well you know what I think, don't you?" Donovan lifted the caution tape for him. They had a mini squabble, and I made a move to lift the tape to follow Sherlock; John wasn't far behind me.

"Uh, who are you two?" Donovan asked. Sherlock nodded, and I lifted the tape.

"Your star-crossed lover," I winked at her, and Donovan glared at me.

"They're my… colleagues. Dr. John Watson and Ms. Ciel DeLuz." He turned to Donovan and back.

"Watson, Deluz, Sergeant Sally Donovan. Sally, Watson and Deluz." Sherlock introduced us.

"A collegue? How do you get a colleague?" Donovan asked skeptically. I rolled my eyes again,a dn she sighed, lifting the tape. John ducked under it, and Donovan radioed that she was, and I quote, 'bringing the freaks in'. I am NOT a freak, thank you very much!

A man with a very disgusted expression approached us in the standard crime scene attire- blue jumpsuit.

"Ah, Anderson." Sherlock walked up to him. "Here we are again."

"It's a crime scene, I don't want it contaminated." Anderson, I suppose, said in a very annoying nasally voice. "Are we clear?"

"Quite clear." Sherlock's face became impassive- I knew that look. It was the look he wore when he told me I was a piano player, and when he explained things to John. It was his 'genius' face. This wouldn't be good. "Eh, is your wife away for long?"

"OH don't pretend that you worked that out, somebody told you."

"I figured from your deodorant."

"My deodorant." Anderson said sarcastically. I snickered, and masked a grin.

"It's for men." Sherlock said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Well of course it's for men!" Anderson exploded. "I'm wearing it!"

"So is Sergeant Donovan." Sherlock cut him off. "I think it just vaporized."

"Now look, whatever you're implying,"

"I'm not implying anything, Anderson," Sherlock proceeded to completely burn, scorch, and roast both Anderson and Donovan. It was completely brill.

Sherlock, John and I entered the house and went upstairs. Lestrade was waiting for us, and John and I put on the crime scene suits. I attempted to pull my hair into a ponytail, but was resorted to stuffing t under my hood. I looked utterly ridiculous, with a puffed-out hood. I didn't want any of my hairs on the scene.

We entered the room of the dead woman- Jennifer Wilson. As soon as I saw the body, I shuddered at the amount of pink in the room. It was disgusting.

Sherlock began his investigating. My eyes darted to the obvious- left hand, ring finger. Married, dirty ring. Uncleaned- unhappy. That style of ring was popular about ten years ago, so I'm assuming that they had an nhappy marriage, whoever this woman was married to, for over ten years.

Hey, I'm a writer and artist. I notice every small detail. And the ring thing? I'ma ROMANCE author, for the most part. I notice things like that. The second thing I noticed was the letters, E. The first thing that popped to mind? Rachel, the main character of one of my stories.

"Rache, germain word for revenge." Andersone leaned against the door frame. I scoffed. "The victim could be trying to tell us something." Sherlock slammed the door in his face, and checked his phone.

"Dr. Watson, any ideas?" John went over to the body and examined it. After he was done, Sherlock motioned for me to examine it.

"Me?" I shook my head. "I'm just here for ideas."

"You're an artist. You notice things- try it." Sherlock appeared to think like I did. I bent over the body, and was instantly over come with the musty scent of wet clothing. The back of the woman's coat was soaking wet. I had seen Sherlock slide his finger under the collar of the coat,a nd assumed that he knew.

"Rain, where's there been rain-" I was cut off by Sherlock.

"Cardiff, I got that." He tossed me his phone; he was right.

"Well, I noticed this when we came in, but that RACHE I think probably stands for Rachel, not some German word for Stonehenge." I commented.

"Revenge." Lestrade piped up.

"So you've got the rain, and did you see the ring?" I asked Sherlock.

"Which part?"

"Oh, I only saw the 10 year unhappy part. There's more?" I asked, curious to see what I'd missed. Sherlock smiled mysteriously.

"Well, you've got two minutes, so we need anything you've got." Lestrade told us.

"Victim is in her late thirties, professional going by her clothing," Sherlock proceded to tell us where she was from-Cardiff- that she was unhappily married-I got that right- she had a string of lovers- huh?- and was left handed. She was planning only to stay the night, and had a suitcase. But apparently something stumped him.

"Why would she wait until she was dying to write Rachel?" Sherlock asked us. I shrugged. Then Sherlock and Lestrade went on at each other about the suitcase, ending with Sherlock dashing off.

John and I traded weary looks and went downstairs. Donovan was there to greet us. I groaned.

"John, I'll see you over there; I don't really want to talk to her." With that, I jogged over to the afore mentioned place- the corner of Brixton and Main. I pulled out my phone and texted my mum.

_Hey, how r u? I'm still in London, but I might actually enjoy being here.- Ciel_

_Why's that, I thought you didn't want to be there?_

_No I didn't. but now I do. Met people, found Mrs. Hudson, it's all working out- Ciel._

_Great. Call me soon! Xoxo, Mummy._

I sighed. She only calls herself Mummy, I call her Mum and so does all of my siblings; I'm the oldest of three. MY youngers are both boys, 21 and 15.

"Well, let's be off. I'd rather fancy a spot of supper." John came up behind me, and we started walking to the main road. While we were walking, public phones that we passed by would actually ring! I'm not joking. Finally, John got fed up with it and answered one in a telephone box. He looked around, talked a bit, and looked up. I followed his gaze- a security camera was moving. I gave a start. His head swung round, and I followed. Two more security cameras were then trained on a spot in the pavement.

"He wants me to get in the car." John shook his head. "You get a cab and go home, tell Sherlock. No worries, I'll be fine." I nodded and hailed a cab. I watched worriedly as he got into the shiny black car.

"Address?"

"221 Baker Street. Thanks." I took out my phone- 3 new messages from…

**A/N So I'm leaving it at that. SO each episode, I estimate, will be two chapters. Please R&R and ALSO favorite/follow. Thank you so much for reading.**

**Xoxo,**

**Yani**


	2. Ch 2- Study in Pink part2

**Continuing on from the last chapter**

**Study in Pink Part 2**

**Due to a request/complaint from the lovely Ms Mei Sparksword, I will no longer be making Ceil as quick as she was before. Just a little dumber, so please bear that in mind. Disclaimer: I don't own BBC's Sherlock. *Sob***

**To answer another review, yes. This will be a Lestrade fic. I promise. Not a Sherlock!Love. I solemnly swear that I am going to write a Lestrade fic.**

*Recap*

"_He wants me to get in the car." John shook his head. "You get a cab and go home, tell Sherlock. No worries, I'll be fine." I nodded and hailed a cab. I watched worriedly as he got into the shiny black car._

"_Address?"_

"_221 Baker Street. Thanks." I took out my phone- 3 new messages from… _(next chapter) my younger- not youngest-brother. He was apparently panicking because it was him and his girlfriend's one year anniversary of dating and he didn't know what to do. Oh Sean, you're hopeless, I thought to myelf amusedly.

_Sean,_

_I don't know, I'm not some love guru. Why did Mia fall in love with you in the first place? Or where, maybe you could take her there and have a special moment or something? Mum will probably know what to do… but don't ask her, she'll take it overboard. Maybe Dad will know?_

_Xoxo,_

_Ciel_

I quickly texted my brother. It didn't take long to get back to Baker Street. When I got back, Sherlock was lying on the couch, absentmidendly rubbing the nicotine patch on his arm. He had three- three! That' strong.

I rolled my eyes, but didn't say anything- it's better than a smoking neighbor. I went upstairs and got out my laptop, pulling up the Word Document with my current writing project on it. The project was a collection of stories and poems about advice and life.

For some reason, I couldn't focus. My mind kept wanting to write cryptic, mysterious stuff, but the project wasn't Gothic, it was contemporary! I sighed and created a new, blank document, letting my fingers do the work.

_Annoying police_

_They don't realise it- or maybe they do._

_That they're bumbling around without a clue_

_They think that they know everything to be known_

_But alas! They are about to be shown_

_That there may be others in this place_

_Consulting detectives with cheekbones aligning their face_

_Doctors who've come straight from a war_

_But come back to find that of war there is more_

_They don't seem to understand_

_Someone's giving them a hand_

_The policeman is blind, and refuses to see_

_That there may have been another way to kill me._

I sat back and read over the poem that I'd just written on the spur of the moment like all of my poems. I never seem to think about what I'm writing, so when I read them it comes as a surprise to me.

Consulting detectives with cheekbones- Sherlock, it must be, and the doctor back from the war would be Watson. Ha, they'd be flattered. I made a mental note to email it to the two of them sometime.

I sat there, staring at the blinking cursor on the computer. I'd found one poem, now why couldn't I write more? I wanted to just write sentences, but that wouldn't make sense. Ah, what the hell?

_Everything is happening really fast. You never know what's around the next corner you turn; a serial killer? Mass suicides? Hot pink adorned dead ladies? That's the mystery. True, part of the mystery is the outcome, but that's not as exciting as the road you take to get there. Clues! Suspects! Chases! That's the fun part._

Maybe I could write a little paragraph on my discovery of the day and a poem, and collect them. That might be cool; maybe even include a short story or two?

I heard the door slam- Sherlock and John were going out, again. I didn't try and catch up, I was pretty tired, and figured that Mrs. Hudson could use some company.

"Oh yes, thank you!" Was Mrs. Hudson's response to my offering to make her tea. She was always making Sherlock tea, the poor dear.

"Here you go," I said, setting a teacup and saucer in front of her. She smiled up at me.

"How's your story going, dearie?" She asked me conversationally.

"Thanks, it's going well. I've created a character for you." I grinned at her as she blushed red.

"Oh dear, I'm not the stuff of those adventures you write about!" Mrs. Hudson said bashfully, to which I shook my head.

"You are very brave, living with both Sherlock, John and I. Very brave indeed!" I patted her on the shoulder, sipping my own tea.

"Ah, you're a funny one, Ciel." Mrs. Hudson laughed. "This tea is very nice, I don't recall buying any green tea."

"Oh, I got it." I told her. "It was at the supermarket, and I adore green tea. You can have the box if you want, I have three more boxes upstairs."

"Thank you." Mrs. Hudson said. "Oh look, that new remake of Punch and Judy is on. I'm going to watch it, you're welcome to watch it with me, if you're like."

"I think I'll pass, I need to work on my pastel work." I said, gathering our cups and saucers and depositing them into the sink. I took the stairs two at a time, and grabbed my blank canvas and pastels. Sitting on a stool and propping the canvas on a shelf, I drew to my heart's content. Soon, the London Eye, the really tall carousel, appeared amidst a sea of blurred faces, cars, and blurred colours.

"Open this door in the name of the London Police!" I heard someone yell from below, not to me. I could hear Mrs. Hudson protesting loudly, and stamping feet entered the building. I mearched down the building furious.

"What the hell is going on here?" I roared loudly, not intimidated by the police uniforms.

"We're on a drugs bust." Sally Donovan informed me snippily. I rolled my eyes.

"For who, Santa Claus?" I said sarcastically.

"No. For Sherlock Holmes." Anderson said from behind me.

"HEY! YOU CAN BLOODY SHUT YOUR TRAP!" I snapped at him. Anderson took a step back.

"I can file government provoking if I wanted to." He said in a nasally voice.

"That won't be necessary." Lestrade said, coming up to me. "But Ciel, please lower your voice."

"Lestrade, is this really necessary?" I asked him in a much lower voice.

"I'm not quite sure. I don't really think so." He admitted. "This isn't even the drugs bust squad, everyone here are volunteers."

"Lestrade, over here," Someone called him. He went over and sat down. I turned to stupid Anderson.

"This is absolutely _mental! Sherlock_, on _drugs_?" My voice rose higher and hgher. The door behind me swung open, revealing Sherlock and John who barged in. I stepped aside for them.

"What're you doing here?" Sherlock asked Lestrade breathlessly.

"Well, I knew you'd find the case," Lestrade said easily. I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms. "I'm not stupid."

"Well you can't just break into my flat," Sherlock said angrily. John looked at me in confusion, to which I shrugged.

"Well you can't withhold evidence!" Lestrade ecxclaimed. "And I didn't break into your flat."

"Well what do you call this then," Sherlock lifted his arms, gesturing at the various people snooping in his things. I marched over to Anderson and snatched Sherlock's skull from his hands, putting it down in its honorary spot on the fireplace mantle.

"It's a drugs bust," Lestrade said simply as muttered the same to Mr. Skully. Yes, I named the skull. I was BORED!

"Seriously, this guy," John said disbelievingly. "A druggie?"

"John," Sherlock said in a low voice, warningly.

"I'm pretty sure that if you searched this flat all day, you wouldn't find anything _recreational_," John barged straight on.

"JOHN!" Sherlock said again. "Shut up now."

"Oh, come on!" John said, looking at him. "No." I stifled laughter at John's disbelieving face, and Lestrade glared at me. I rolled my eyes.

"What?" Sherlock said defensively.

"You?"

"So what?" Sherlock turned back to Lestrade, who was still reclining in John's easy chair. "And I'm not your sniffer dog."

"No, Anderson's on it." Lestrade motioned towards the door, where Anderson popped out and waved.

"Yeah, and Anderson touched Mr. Skully." I added. Sherlock looked admonished.

"Wha- Anderson? What's he doing here on a drug's bust?" Sherlock yelled loudly.

"Oh, I volunteered," Anderson said, smirking. I flipped him off, and he glared even fiercer at me. Lame!

"They all did," Lestrade informed Sherlock, holding in laughter. "They're not on the drugs squad, strictly speaking, but they're, uh, helping out."

"Are these human eyes?" Donovan appeared with a Ziplock baggie of bloody eyes! I felt my skin turn a bit green.

"Put those back!" Sherlock shouted.

'They were in the microwave," She replied.

"It's an experiment!" Sherlock defended. Lestrade went on to lecture Sherlock about how this was 'their case' and yadda yadda yadda. Whatever. I went into the kitchen and grabbed a bar of chocolate. One of the police snatched it from me and examined it.

"What the hell?" I asked, yanking it back.

"I'm examining it for possible illegal substances." He told me.

"It's a CADBURY BAR, FOR PETE'S SAKE!" I yelled as he handed me my Crunchie back. I unwrapped it and bit it in his face. "Ooh, now I'm high! Ehahahahaha! I feel dizzy… AND HAPPY!" I stormed back to the living room.

"That was ages ago, why would she still be upset!" Sherlock was waving his hands about.

"Upset about what?" I asked. John quietly explained that Jennifer Wilson had an unborn daughter, Rachel. Ah.

"Bad thing to say" Sherlock looked around. We all nodded. Sherlock began schpieling about Jennifer Wilson being clever, and how smart she was.

"Oh stop working Sherlock, your taxi's here." Mrs. Hudson said.

"I didn't order a taxi, go away Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock snapped. I looked rebukingly at Sherlock, and went back into the kitchen to make sure that Sherlock's human body parts were disposed of.

"Oh, I think that I smelled illegal substances in these bags, might you be able to take them away?" I said, shoving the bag with the many severed thumbs at a policeman. He stumbled.

"Um, yeah, sure." He said, taking the bag.

"Great. The fridge is full of them so I'll but the bags into a garbage bag and give it to you on the way out," I called after him. The poor man stopped in his tracks.

"Theres…. More of these?" He asked, horrified. I nodded and smiled cheekily.

"Thanks a million, you do London proud." I waved at him as he carried the other bags down the stairs.

"Ciel, I'll be gone for about an hour, see you later," John called up the stairs to my flat.

"Alright!" I yelled in response. "Sherlock with you?"

"NO, I'M GOING AFTER HIM," He replied.

"BYE!" I shouted, and finished my painting up. Soon, I was proud of how it turned out. There was the London Eye in the center, with people on the pavement below whizzing by. The Eye was turning, blurring the people riding in those little pods and the steel grey of the metal. Colours blurred the background where the sky would be.

"Looks nice." A voice said from behind me. I jumped, accidentally smudging something. I adjusted it and turned around to face Lestrade.

"Thanks. I've been working on it the whole afternoon." I told him.

"Well, the work paid off." He smiled at me, making me blush slightly. "Listen, I'm heading off, there was a gunshot down at Lauriston Gardens. You can come if you want."

"Uh, I think I'll wait here for Sherlock and John, but thanks for the offer," I said, smiling at him. Lestrade smiled back and went downstairs.

Minutes later, my phone rang; it was John.

"Ciel, we have a problem." He said, panting.

"Let me guess, Lauriston Gardens." I said, putting two and two together.

"How'd you… never mind. Can you take Mrs. Hudson's old car and pick us up? Sherlock's being examined by medics." He told me. I told him that I'd be there immediately, and hurried downstairs.

"Mrs. Hudson, can I borrow your car?" I asked. She nodded.

"Keys are on the coffee table in the hallway." I raced out of the door, grabbing the keys on the way. Going fast, I was at Lauriston Gardens in twenty minutes. There was John and Sherlock, waiting by an ambulance. Sherlock had a bright orange blanket draped around his shoulders.

"What the bloody hell is that blanket for?" I asked, poking it. Sherlock rolled his eyes and shrugged out of it, chucking the blanket into a police car next to them.

"I'm apparently in _shock_," Sherlock said scornfully.  
"Because Sherlock Holmes is way above _shock_, everyone knows that!" John added, laughing.

"Oh get in, you clowns!" I unlocked the doors. "How about some food, you two look famished." The two traded glances.

"We sure are! I vote Chinese," John told me. I nodded.

"Uh, well, I don't know any Chinese places around here." I said. Sherlock immediately fired off precise directions to the Jade Lotus, the best Chinese restaurant in London where a person could eat for under 10 pounds.

"So, Sherlock, another case solved." I said. He looked at me sharply.

"Yes. Another case solved."

"Would you mind telling me what exactly happened?" I asked.

"Well, it started with that cabbie Mrs. Hudson was going on about…"

**Did ya'all likey? Uh-HUH! I SAID YA"ALL, SO MURDER ME. Actually, don't. Thx. **

**xx.**

**KFC**


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